


Chasing Mist

by Koruga



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: College Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21789808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koruga/pseuds/Koruga
Summary: Finding Mordechai is the easy part. It's keeping him in one place that's difficult.The many meetings of Jonah Magnus and Mordechai Lukas.
Relationships: Jonah Magnus/Mordechai Lukas
Kudos: 18





	Chasing Mist

**Author's Note:**

> I wish there was more Mordechai Lukas content. No, there's no information on his personality, and no, I don't expect him to be a major player, but goddammit I can dream!

The first time they meet is at the Bodleian Library in 1810, their first year at Oxford. It isn't the first time they've crossed paths, nor is either one wholly ignorant of the existence of the other, but Jonah Magnus has never beheld the pleasure of tracking down a Lukas to speak with them before.

For the past three months, Jonah has been one of the highest academic achievers in his philosophy course. Consistently scoring high in matters of debate and theory, always bringing new ideas to seminars, his fellow students clearly see him as their superior in all matters philosophical. If he had to wager a guess, Jonah would say that at least a few of the professors share the same opinion. Everyone, it would seem, agrees that Jonah Magnus is the brightest star to rise in this sky.

Except for the unfortunate fact that he is not. In every graded assignment, Jonah scores second. The coveted first place spot belongs to someone named Mordechai Lukas, a man who, to Jonah's knowledge, has never said a single word in class. Of all his classmates (and Jonah has interviewed most of them in his search for information on his mysterious rival) only Barnabas Bennett has managed to eke even a sentence out of the man.

"I'd been coming down," Barnabas had explained, biting his thumb as he tried to recall the details of the encounter. "I'd had a brush with a girl the night before, and we smoked a bit of opium before getting down to it. When I came in, I took a seat at the back next to him, and the way he looked at me you'd have thought I killed his dog. He asked if I wanted anything from him, and when I said no he excused himself and walked over to the other side of the lecture hall. I didn't think I was in such bad shape, but I guess he was just that sort of prim and proper young gentleman, you know?" He had shrugged. "I noticed him a few more times after that, but I wasn't about to sit next to him again. He's usually in the back left of the lecture halls, and near the outskirts in any given seminar. I saw him at the Bod once, reading at one of the tables. I would have talked to him, but I needed to get on to an, er, meeting."

Talking to Barnabas was rarely very enlightening, but this specific conversation did, at the very least, shed a bit of light on Mordechai, and it is what leads Jonah to the library, stalking through the aisles with only the barest regard for quiet. Mordechai is supposed to be taciturn and tall, with ghost-pale skin and dark hair. It shouldn't be hard to find him.

And yet Jonah is on his third circle around the building with nothing to show for it, tugging on his hair in frustration. He slams his hand down on a nearby table and causes the notes of the student working there to scatter down to the floor. The student doesn't even look up from his book, and Jonah takes a deep sigh before bending down to grab the papers. At the very least, he can perhaps recoup some of his lost social cache from this disastrous run of searching, by graciously assisting one --

_Oh_. Well, isn't that convenient. Carefully penned at the top of the page, in a minuscule script far neater even than Jonah's, is the name _Mordechai Lukas_ and the day's date. Jonah's frustrated grimace slowly curls up into a grin, and he neatly arranges the papers before tapping on Lukas's book. "I hate to bother you, but I believe you dropped these."

Jonah doesn't ask for much. He doesn't expect Mordechai's eyes to widen with recognition when he sees the man in front of him, he doesn't expect concern or fear upon hearing his voice. He does, however, at least expect an acknowledgement, and not a thin hand reaching out and silently snatching the notes back without even looking up. Jonah coughs pointedly, glaring holes in the copy of _De Re Publica_ Mordechai is reading, and still gets no response. He taps on the table, one, twice, three times, and gets nothing. Mordechai is either deaf, or the rudest man Jonah has ever met.

After what seems like forever but is in fact barely four minutes, Jonah can take it no longer. He seizes the book from Mordechai's hands and snaps it shut with a satisfying _thud_. "I would expect such a high academic at Oxford to have been brought up with better manners," he remarks icily at the man in front of him, whose face hasn't changed from a stony concentration. (Ridiculous. The least he could do is look shocked at what Jonah has done.)

When Mordechai finally speaks, his words are slow and deliberate, pouring out like honey from the bottom of the jar. "I was trying to study. I would expect that an academic such as _yourself_ would respect that I came here to learn, not to engage in pointless conversation with people I have no desire to know."

His bluntness takes Jonah -- well, not by _surprise_ exactly, but it's certainly a level of honesty that he isn't used to. He has always found a way to surround himself with people that agree with him and seek to please him, his own personal court with him as the ruling monarch. Before university, much of it came from his family's wealth and status, but having a personal servant isn't nearly as impressive at Oxford as it is in Dartmouth, so Jonah had to learn very quickly exactly what people were looking for, and what they didn't want others to know. People were much easier to convince when you held their deepest secrets in the palm of your hand -- if he was falling behind in his painting class, it was child's play to gently remind Professor Weston of his infidelity and how easy it would be to get the word out to his wife and daughters. Jonah has always found a certain degree of pride in his ability to read people, so it's all the more confusing when Mordechai's reply reveals nothing but a desire to go back to reading his book.

It's entirely in Latin, as well, Jonah finds as he looks down at the book. Not unheard of, but Jonah knows what class Mordechai must be reading this for, and they have been using the Carvil translation throughout. He glances back up at Mordechai, who seems faded out, greyer than he was seconds ago, and clicks his tongue. "You may not have any desire to know me, but I assure you, it will bring you much more pleasure if you do."

"I can be the judge of that. My book, please."

"What are you afraid of? All I ask for is a simple chat."

_That_ earns a reaction from Mordechai, an uncomfortable grimace and a shift in his seat. Jonah could be wrong, but he's almost sure he sees the colour come back to Mordechai's face. "I prefer the silence," he intones, his eyes averted from Jonah's face. "I don't enjoy the theatrics of sociality."

Jonah takes a seat opposite Mordechai, staring at him intensely. It feels good to have that measure of control back, even if his gaze threatens to glance off of Mordechai like water on wax for reasons Jonah can't begin to comprehend. "The two of us are the top academics in our courses. My success is only eclipsed by yours. I did expect you to be something of a bookworm, but I don't think anyone could suspect you were so averse to any contact as a whole." He smiles placidly, and Mordechai looks down at his notes as if he would very much like for them to swallow him whole. "I think we could accomplish great things together, the two of us. We could form a partnership, and soar beyond anything this university has seen before, or will see since." Perhaps notoriety was the key to Lukas's heart, a desire to be remembered as a great academic. Jonah could work with that.

"I'm already at the top of my class. You're the only one with anything to gain from that partnership, and I prefer to work alone." He shuffles his notes around, not deigning to look up to see Jonah's disgruntlement.

"Then perhaps you could tutor me. I would love to--"

"No."

"Why not? Surely you're not so cold-hearted as to turn down a student in need." 

Mordechai shakes his head. "Hardly in need. You're second only to me in terms of academics, you said so yourself. And I told you, I prefer to work alone."

Jonah groans loudly, rubbing at his eyes. "You're making it very difficult to befriend you, Mr. Lukas."

"Good." Mordechai's voice seems to echo around the room as Jonah massages his face, though it shouldn't be nearly large enough for such a thing.

"At the very least, can you tell me how you manage, even without any participation or questions, to be consistently superior to me in every course we share?" Jonah takes his hands off his face and looks to fix Mordechai with a piercing glare -- but he's no longer there. Nothing is there, in fact, except a single page of notes and the distinct taste of fog in the air, and Jonah worries for a second that he has been speaking to a ghost.

Then the fog thickens, and Jonah can swear he sees a hand reach out for the inky page. He stumbles in his seat and grabs it before the phantom hand can, and in that moment, the fog seems to lift. Jonah feels his hand pass through the phantom's as he snatches the parchment up, crumpling it slightly in the process. He doesn't care. This meeting -- this strange meeting, with this strange, _strange_ man, was real, and he has proof.

Jonah will see Mordechai Lukas again, one way or another. He's absolutely sure of it.


End file.
